Hermione's Proposition
by Toodleoo
Summary: After overhearing some of her students gossiping about her love life, Hermione decides it's time for a change. She has an offer for Severus Snape that she hopes he can't refuse.
1. The Problem

**There's this story by the phenomenal author Aurette called "Worth the Wait." It's brilliant, and everyone should read it. If you haven't read it, go and do so now. **

**I'll wait.**

**There. She's a genius, am I right?**

**That opening was_ fantastic_, wasn't it?**

**This story is a humble tribute to it, something that popped into my head after I read her piece. This first chapter here quotes the opening of her story, but changes things up a bit. From the second chapter on, it becomes entirely my own. (Or as much of "my own" as any fanfiction can be.) If you don't like it, I'm sorry you wasted your time here. Don't blame Aurette. She actually has_ talent _(heaps of it!), whereas I just have... a _computer_. If you do like this tale, all credit goes to her (and Ms. Rowling) for inspiration. If you don't, it's because I'm pants at this writing business. **

**Oh, and if any of you are worried, you should know that Aurette herself knows this is here and told me that she doesn't mind being my source of inspiration - check the reviews for this first chapter for proof!**

:

"Fourteen inches," snapped Imogen Swern, yanking out an empty chair at the library table. "Fourteen inches on the alternate uses for a Banishing Charm?"

"It's going to take hours," Nigel Brimble whinged as he thunked his book down beside her. "Not that it matters what we write, since she'll knock off half the points for commas anyhow."

Professor Hermione Granger stopped dead in her tracks when she overheard some of her best students discussing their latest assignment. Imogen routinely turned in well-written essays, Pip was always one of the first to master a new spell, and Nigel? He might not be able to punctuate his way out of a paper bag, but his tie was neatly tied and his shirt was usually tucked in. From where she was standing a few rows over in the Restricted Section, she was fairly confident they couldn't see her. Just to be safe, she cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself and held still, curiously listening to what they had to say.

"My cousin Celestia was a third year when she was a sixth year," sympathized Pip Ditton, "and she said Granger spent all her free hours in the library. Said she even skipped Hogsmeade weekends to revise."

"Can you blame her? Who in their right mind would take Granger out?" Brimble asked. "She doesn't know how to have any fun." He rolled up the sleeves of his robes in the same way she did during lessons and stood up an inch or two straighter. Then he changed his voice to mimic hers. "15 points from Hufflepuff for laughing out of turn! 20 points from Ravenclaw for attempting to snog a prefect!"

The others snickered.

"Ugh," Brimble grumbled. "I bet she expects us to live in here just like she did when she was a student."

"I bet she lays in bed at night and humps textbooks," Swern challenged him, giggling.

"Why not? It's not like she has a _man_ in her bed."

"Never?" the girl asked. "Do you think she's _ever_ had one?"

"Everybody talks about how she kissed Ronald Weasley at the Battle of Hogwarts," Brimble offered.

"Yeah, and he up and married someone else. Can you imagine anything more embarrassing? I would die. I would just roll over and die."

"Didn't Viktor Krum take her out?"

"To the Yule Ball? I bet he was forced to by his headmaster. You know, to be polite. That doesn't count."

"Nah, that probably makes it even worse," Ditton piped up. "A big Quidditch star takes you out once and your love life is over when you're fifteen."

"It's sad is what it is. She was a somebody for five minutes forever ago and now she's a nobody again."

"She didn't even really do anything. She followed Potter around and cooked for him while he saved the world. Big deal."

_Did they really believe that?_ she wondered. Hermione knew that if she were to drop the charm and march around the corner, her rude little cretins would shut their traps and backpedal within an inch of their lives. She knew that students said horrible things about their professors all the time, but it was usually about one of the others—not about _her_. Even when they had grumbled about her, it was never this personal. She kept listening to their conversation, unable to pull herself away as though it were an accident on the motorway.

"My mum says he's going to be the next Minister for Magic, you know."

"His wife's fit," Ditton added. "I saw her playing last year. You should see her covered in sweat."

"You're a pig," Swern spat.

"I'm just saying," Ditton retorted, "Potter made the right choice. Granger's frigid, she is."

"Gah! Could you imagine it? Picking her over Ginny Potter? He's not blind, even if he is her friend."

"Granger's knickers are probably made of iron anyway. Made of iron and locked up tight, even for the great Harry Potter."

"Ewwwww! I don't want to think about Granger's knickers. _Ever_."

The laughter of the three Gryffindor students abruptly cut off as their Potions professor stepped around the shelf.

"Thirty points each and a week's detentions, the three of you. Report to Mr. Filch immediately."

"For what?" said Swern.

"For _what_? I heard your little conversation, young lady!"

"We have a right to our own opinions! We were just expressing ourselves in private."

Professor Snape narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice. "The library is hardly private, and it is against school rules to be openly disrespectful of a member of the staff, never mind your own Head of House. Now, get out of my sight, or I will personally oversee your detentions. I assure you, you do not want me to handle your punishment."

He stood there with his arms folded as the three bundled up their books and headed off, glaring at their backs as they headed out the door.

It was then that he noticed the object of their conversation twenty feet away, her Disillusionment Charm slipping and her face, pinched and pale. She had always been incredibly expressive, even when she didn't want to be, and her discomfort was palpable now as she fought back tears.

Out of all the other professors at Hogwarts, why did it have to be _him _here? He was finally treating her like an adult rather than the annoying student from his classroom. Why did he have to be the one to see her like this?

"Granger?" He looked her over from head to toe. "Snap out of it. Those little maggots say the same and worse about me on an hourly basis."

She turned her head to him slowly. Why was he still standing there?

She didn't trust herself to say anything without bursting into tears, so she snatched her satchel from the floor, turned on her heel, and bolted. She could feel him watching her until she was out of sight.

The strange thing was, she usually wasn't bothered by the juvenile comments her students made. She always told herself that she was strong, that nothing bothered her and that she was indestructible.

It had been a long time since she had felt so small.

:

**I hope this was a passable beginning! Let me know what you think: good, bad, or ugly.**


	2. The Proposition

In the days that followed, Hermione tried to pick herself up and go back to life as usual. If she was acting a little more polite than usual to her three delinquents—just to shove it in their ungrateful faces—nobody ever mentioned it. _Let them stew in their guilt. They didn't know that she had heard the whole thing_. And if she took the time to learn from Filch exactly how many hours they spent cleaning the loos in the Quidditch locker rooms with toothbrushes, well, nobody could find fault with the way that she followed up on her students' character formation, could they?

After some time with her niggling thoughts and doubts, Hermione sat herself down with her journal, a few new quills, and the determination to discover why their insults had cut her so deeply. They were children, after all, just thoughtless children who just needed to gripe about their homework before sitting down to do their work. If she hadn't been there, they would likely have dug around in the library for the books they needed and written their essays, no questions asked. She would never have been any the wiser, and she wouldn't be here second guessing herself now.

Curled up in her pillow-bedecked reading nook with a steaming pot of Lady Grey and an open bag of crisps, Hermione mulled over their words. They'd started off innocently enough, just whinging about their latest essay. _That was fine_. It didn't bother her that they thought she asked a lot from them in Charms class or that she expected them to put in the hours they needed to as students. She knew that she was strict and fair, and she was proud of her reputation as a demanding teacher. Let Sybil be the professor who flounced into their lives with dream charts and color readings, Hermione would be the young battle-axe taking up the helm of Minerva McGonagall. She'd never be able to pull off a reign of terror like Severus Snape, but she thought she performed admirably nevertheless.

And it didn't bother her that they thought Ginny was prettier than she was. Hermione loved her like a sister and knew that Harry's glamorous wife was more put together than she herself would ever be. Ginny Potter was a celebrity in her own right these days, a star Chaser for the Kenmare Somebody-or-Others and the author of a story or two for the Daily Prophet. If you were to stop 10 men in Diagon Alley and asked them to choose between Ginny and Hermione herself, 9 would pick Ginny. Maybe all 10. They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder like some subjectively quantified entity, but life had taught Hermione otherwise. Besides, she'd trained herself as a student to separate her professors off from other people with an appropriate distance, and now that she was a professor herself, she expected the same from her students. They weren't supposed to think of her as a woman, nor did she want them to. She was their professor, not their friend.

Those little buggers had hit closer to home with their remarks about Ron. It _had_ been embarrassing when he'd ended up with Lavender Brown instead of her. Not that she wanted him—_she didn't, she really didn't—_but the perpetual pity she received from total strangers was wearying, to say the least. It had taken her and Ron a mere three weeks of dating to realize that it would never work between them and another three weeks for Lavender to worm her way back into Ron's life, but Hermione was still receiving sympathetic letters from sweet old biddies a decade after the war and the very public breakup. Why, she'd opened one package of homemade fudge just last month to learn that Felicity Plaskitt of Bristol owned four cats and still believed that Ronald Weasley was a scoundrel of the highest order. Would she like some choccie treats and one of Fluffy's next litter of kittens?

Not wanting to tempt fate, she passed on the cats. The fudge was delicious.

No, she relished the freedom that came with being single. Watching Harry and Ginny sort out where to live and when to work with the kids, she knew there were compromises that came from being part of a couple she was glad she didn't have to make. When she wanted to take off for a weekend vacation, she bought her ticket to Cyprus and packed her bags. When she wanted to change jobs, she signed the contract without consulting anyone first. When she wanted something sweet to nibble on at midnight, she walked straight to the kitchen and requested some banoffee pie.

If she were brutally honest with herself, it was the comment about her love life taking a nose dive after Viktor that hit the hardest.

Because it was_ right on the money_.

Viktor Krum was the last man (_boy_, she corrected herself internally) who wanted her and sought her out, who fought for her company and attention. He was also the first boy to kiss her and he was the first one to try to sneak his hands under her shirt. She'd swatted them away at the time, shy and inexperienced as she was.

Little did she know then, he would also be the last.

Had she known, would she have stopped him?

At twenty-nine, Hermione Granger was still as inexperienced as she was at fifteen.

She was significantly less shy now, and had a better picture of what she wanted. It wasn't Viktor anymore and it certainly wasn't Ron. Truth be told, there wasn't anyone that she had in mind, no secret passion that she'd been harboring for Neville or—_Merlin forbid_—Malfoy. There was a part of her that wondered what she was missing out on, someone to cuddle up with under a blanket on a rainy day or snog the life out of during those few days leading up to that time of the month when all men suddenly looked quite appealing. Someone to curl up with in bed when she wasn't feeling well or look out for her when she was too tired to look after herself anymore. Someone who would let her take care of him.

As a result, relationships were foreign to her. Sex was, too.

Maybe she had let work consume her, or maybe she just wasn't very good at being a woman.

Hermione Granger disliked not knowing things, but what irked her more than anything was not knowing something that everyone else on the planet knew about. Although getting into a a long-term relationship seemed like a lot of work, a merely physical encounter shouldn't be too difficult to procure, should it? She'd always thought that men weren't particularly discriminating when it came to sex. As long as she was safe and respected, she found that her curiosity to experience it just once was finally strong enough to prompt her to do something about it.

She considered her options, made a few lists to help her make a decision, and formulated a plan.

:

"I have a proposition for you," she said, standing outside his door late one evening.

Severus Snape stood in the door frame, blocking her entrance with arm folded across his chest. "Of what nature, pray tell, Granger?"

"Let's call it a scientific nature."

"If I'm correcting an article you wrote, I want a credit as a second author." He stopped, thought about her last piece on experimental wand movements, and reconsidered. "Unless I find that your work is utter shite, in which case, you can keep my name off your little achievement of the month."

"It's not an article." She could feel the warmth of a spotty flush starting to creep up her neck.

"What, then?"

"You were there last week when..." Her voice trailed off, not wanting to recall the incident with her students.

"When _what_?" he prompted her. "Complete sentences, Granger."

She opened her mouth as if to speak, paused, and snapped it shut again. Then she glanced up and down the empty corridor before leaning in closer. "May I come in?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Please? This isn't the kind of thing I want to be overheard."

He sighed a bit more loudly than he needed to, then took a step back and gestured for her to enter his quarters.

"Thank you for your time, Severus." She waited in the entryway until he led her to a battered leather wingback beside the fire. She took off her teaching robe, folded it neatly, and draped it over the back of the chair before making herself comfortable in the cozy chair.

He took the matching chair beside it. "Go on, then."

She started giving herself the pep talk that she'd prepared in her rooms. She could do this. She really could. Her eyes darted about the room, settling on a bottle of Ogden's tucked away on a corner table.

"Would you care for a drink?" he asked.

She nodded furiously, relieved that he was good at reading people. Perhaps she wouldn't have to say the words aloud if he could just read her mind.

He looked intrigued.

He stood again, walked over to grab the firewhisky and a pair of glasses, and poured two stiff drinks. Returning to her side, he pressed a glass into her hand and watched her sip her drink daintily before taking his seat again.

"I wanted to thank you for stepping in and diffusing that situation in the library the other day."

He was decidedly uncomfortable, staring at the flickering flames rather than at her. "There's no need."

"I really think there is, Severus."

He took a swig of his whisky and smirked. "Granger, I know you want them all to be angels, but I like it when they act like the imbeciles that they're rapidly growing up to become." He raised his glass. "I get to exercise my flagging disciplinary skills and Filch gets to exercise his creativity."

Hermione smiled. He was acting almost friendly. She could _do_ this. "I don't know why I didn't stop them sooner." Her words came quickly now as she tried to lay out her big idea for him to consider. She decided that she couldn't look at him or she'd lose her nerve, so most of her speech was delivered to the half-empty glass in her hands. "I've come to the conclusion that there was an element of truth in what they were talking about. Not all of it, certainly, but they were right about one thing. And I think you probably don't know what that one thing is, but even if you do, you'd never say anything about it. At least not to me. Or maybe you would say something? But probably not. You're too much of a gentleman to say anything about—"

He snorted into his drink.

"And now I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"Mindlessly, yes, and grasping for words," he drawled, but there was no bite to it. He looked over at her, a rare spark in his fathomless eyes. "I am no gentleman."

She coughed a few times and laughed awkwardly, downing the rest of her drink in one. "Good." Then she slammed the empty glass on the table. "To get back to my proposal. I think the best course of action is to take matters into my own hands. Well, not my hands, per se, since I already do that now—Oh, Merlin, I can't believe I just said that! Please disregard that! So I need to do something. Take something into my—Not my own hands, but someone else's. Place something into someone's—someone else's, if you know what I mean."

She looked up at him, waiting for an answer to a question that she hadn't realized she hadn't asked.

He looked terribly confused.

"Well?" she asked.

"Well _what_?" he said. "I already asked for complete sentences. What on earth are you talking about?"

She needed to start over. _She could do this_. "I propose that we _mrblsksh_."

"Pardon me?" He leaned forward. "I didn't catch that last bit. You propose that we what?"

She coughed again. "I propose that we have... sex."

His eyes grew wide and his mouth dropped open just a tick.

"Together."

Still, he didn't say a word.

He didn't even blink.

She had broken Severus Snape.

Then he snapped out of it. He shook his head. "No."

"What?"

"I said 'no,' Granger."

_That_ was unexpected. She knew she wasn't the prettiest or thinnest woman in England, but she _was_ the only woman under seventy at Hogwarts. Hermione didn't know much about Severus' love life, but she didn't think he was seeing anyone. If he was, he was incredibly discrete. Wouldn't he welcome her offer? Merlin, she was mortified. She needed to leave right away.

"Okay." She stood up, fumbling about as she set her empty glass on the mantle above the fire.

But perhaps he refused because he misunderstood? Maybe he thought she was asking for a relationship, an emotionally overwrought, sticky companionship that would complicate their working together? She wasn't. She needed to clarify, and then he would surely accept.

She turned around and waited until he locked eyes with her.

"I'm sorry," she said. "This is my fault. I don't think I was clear about this, but you should know that I'm not asking for a date, Severus."

"No, I understood," he said, not skipping a beat. "My answer is the same."

It was like a punch to the gut.

"Oh." So it wasn't some sort of fear of relationships on his part, or the feeling like he had to take her out for dinner at some posh restaurant. He just didn't want her. She forced a smile on her face. Was she really _that_ undesirable?

She plucked her robes off the back of the chair and headed towards the door. Each step grew heavier until she found herself at his door. One question loomed in her mind, and she had to say something before she left. She didn't have quite enough courage to turn around and face him again, but she did have enough to ask him one final question.

"Why not?"

:

**Phew! Poor Hermione.**

**Why, Severus, why?**


	3. The Explanation

Was she too young for his taste? That seemed unlikely. What man alive turned down a willing woman umpteen years his junior? Maybe she wasn't red-haired and willowy enough. If Lily Potter was his ideal, she would never get anywhere with the man. That is, unless he woke up one morning preferring scrubby brunettes to Titian goddesses, and suddenly found that he was inexplicably drawn to "average" over "stunning."

Bugger. On the Lily issue... Had he even taken a woman out since the end of the war? Maybe he was dedicating his celibacy to her memory and had sworn off women altogether. He was a man of such extremes. She admired his savage sense of right and wrong. Committing himself to a lifetime without love or affection would not be outside the realm of possibility where Severus Snape was concerned.

Groaning, she hit her head against the door.

Her enthusiastic outbursts at the Head Table drove him batty, too. She knew that. She could tell from the way he watched her with a looked of stunned disbelief when she went on a rant against the Ministry or the Daily Prophet or the Royal family or the UN or the long practice hours put in by the Quidditch house teams.

Anticipation and dread hung over Hermione while she waited for his response. Thankfully, she wasn't put on hold for long.

"Why not?" Snape was gruff and abrupt. "We work together, Granger."

She whipped around to face him.

"So?" she asked. There wasn't anything in the faculty handbook about dating coworkers. When she first arrived to teach two years ago, she'd heard all the rumors about Madam Hooch's conquests. Peeves had been quite delighted to share a set of lurid tales with her now that she had returned to Hogwarts as an adult. Adventures in the Forbidden Forest, eye-opening uses for Petrificus Totalus that she'd never learnt as a firstie, acrobatic maneuvers on a broom... She'd stopped the poltergeist before he started naming names, but if even half the gossip about Hooch was true, the Quidditch instructor had left quite a legacy of satisfied fliers in her wake.

She advanced on him slowly.

He sounded impatient from the other side of the room. "How am I supposed to pretend to listen to your inane chatter in faculty meetings if I'm thinking about your arse or trying to picture you naked?"

Hermione smiled. She could work with this.

Snape continued on with his reasoning.

"Granger, I know you haven't been here long, but that rule is fairly universal. I would say that 'No rumpy-pumpy with one's colleagues' _is_, in fact, a cardinal rule in life."

She sank back down in the leather chair, processing what he had to say. Surely he had at least heard about Rolanda's affairs. Was it possible that he hadn't been subject to Peeves' stories? He had been here when most of them happened. Either way, Severus obviously wasn't one of the notches on her broomstick, or he wouldn't be so closed off to the subject_._ Maybe he was a bit of a prude, or was he simply olf-fashioned? Hermione pulled her feet up underneath her and nestled into the worn leather, enjoying the warmth of the fire and the spark of conversation. "I have it on good authority that at least one of our colleagues takes a much looser approach to that rule than you think."

Startled, he nearly choked on his whisky. "What kind of authority, Granger? Authority implies firsthand knowle_—_"

"No, no!" she interrupted. "No firsthand knowledge here. Didn't we establish that already? I'm woefully lacking in firsthand anything. That's why I asked you for..." Her voice trailed off before she regained her focus. "That's why I asked you what I asked you. Clearly 'authority' is too strong a word. But I've heard plenty about_—"_

"Do stop, Granger."

"Because Peeves said_—"_

"Granger!"

"And if Mada_—"_

A quick flick of his wrist, and her voice was gone.

Hermione was impressed, if annoyed. Wordless, wandless magic was challenging for the most powerful and experienced, and yet Severus knew how to do it with ease. Not that she was surprised. The longer she worked with him, the more she learned of his obscure skills and accomplishments. Who else spoke Korean and Esperanto fluently, or brewed his own ale? Not to mention the flying ability. His depth of knowledge was #3 on her meticulously itemized list of Reasons to Convince Severus Snape for a Proper Shag.

His lip curled. "There is no bone in my body that wishes to hear you complete that sentence. Good heavens, Granger, what kinds of sordid things do you think go on here?"

She shouted_—noiselessly, thanks to him__—_and gesticulated wildly as she leapt to her feet, frustrated that she was getting nowhere.

"What was that?" he asked, smirking. "Sorry, I didn't catch that."

She glared at him.

"I will release you if you agree to never speak of Hooch's libidinous journey through life ever again."

She narrowed her eyes and nodded grudgingly.

Another flick, and she felt a rush of warmth flow through her throat.

"Silence me again, Severus," she said, leaning over to poke his chest, "and I'll let it slip to my class that you knit sweaters for rescue penguins in the Tasman Sea."

"Idle threats. They'd never believe you." He brushed her hand away and poured himself another finger of whisky.

He spoke quietly, but remained resolute. "We work together, Granger. Cardinal rules."

"Is that really the only reason?"

"It's the only one I need," he insisted.

"Well, this is a fine time for your antiquated notions of honor to show up," she blurted out, dropping back into her seat. She never thought she'd have to fight so hard for a little hanky panky, and she hadn't fully thought out a thorough argument in advance. She couldn't give it away. If only she had prepared for this more carefully. "Even if you ignore what has gone on here at Hogwarts, I think if you'll consult the headlines about certain members of Parliament or other film stars, nobody thinks much of that as a cardinal rule these days."

"So we should all do as others do, is that your new motto?" He raised his glass to her. "I'm glad to see your moral compass has stopped functioning entirely, Granger."

"I have a moral compass!" she bellowed. Then she checked herself and spoke soberly. "At least I try to___—"_ She sighed.___ "_I know I'm no saint. After everything we've been through, arbitrary social rules hold very little value to me. I'm not going to do something just because it's expected. It's all the more reason to seize the day and take what you want."

"And you want… me?" He sounded doubtful.

She rolled her eyes. Hadn't she just asked him into her bed? Men were so thick sometimes. And Molly wondered why she didn't invest more time in dating.

He shook his head again. "Granger, there are lines one simply does not cross."

"I agree with you, Severus." Holding out her hand, she counted the reasons off on her fingers. "Married people or those in a committed relationship? That's off the table."

"Ah, now I see."

She frowned. "See what?"

"Why you didn't go to Professor Davies."

"Roger?" Hermione had forgotten about the handsome Astronomy instructor. He was perfect and boring, like a plastic doll. "What's his wife's name again? Kimberly? Tiffany?"

"Longbottom?"

"That's a ludicrous name for a woman." Hermione smiled smugly at her own joke and waggled her eyebrows. "Mrs. Longbottom Davies, oh my."

He groaned. "Yes, Granger, you're hilarious. Shall I ask one of the house-elves to fetch you a congratulatory piece of cake?"

"No," she grumbled. "Honestly, Severus, you needn't be so tetchy."

"Why not Longbottom?"

"Neville is… Well, he's Neville." She leaned back and folded her arms across her chest. "He's sweet and thoughtful and charming in an affably dopey sort of way, but he's like a brother to me. I could never envision him as a potential bedmate after chasing his frog all around the common room as a twelve-year-old. Besides, he's dating Hannah now."

"In a relationship and off limits," he said. "Flitwick, then?"

"He's my boss!" she cried, incredulous. "No. It's a balance of power issue."

"Filch?" he needled, enjoying her growing unease.

"I'm going to pretend you never said that," she said. She was fairly certain that Severus was teasing her, and she was positive she liked it. She could add this to the bottom of the Reasons to Shag Snape list when she returned to her quarters. It would be #24. "The man's older than my grandfather."

"Too old." A terrible grin spread across his features. "Hagrid."

Hermione started laughing like a loon. "No, no, no! First, you'd have to consider physical compatibility, which seems unlikely if not _completely impossible and highly hazardous to my health. _No. Would I ever be able to walk again?" She winced just thinking about it. "Secondly, Hagrid is also significantly older than me and interested in different things. What would we talk about?"

"And here I thought you were only in this for carnal knowledge. When did conversation become a part of your proposition?"

She frowned. "I never said that I wouldn't want to talk with you. I always enjoy talking to you, even when you're telling me my research is rubbish or that I need to discipline my students more." His verbosity was #5 on the shag list. She pursed her lips, displeased with the direction this was leading. "Who would you rather I go to, hmm?"

"I am merely finding out where I feature in all of this," he said.

And something in the air shifted.

_He_ changed.

His outward demeanor was calm, but she could sense his defensive nature, a kind of aggression just beneath the surface. "It appears that you have singled me out for this dubious distinction because I am, quite literally, the only living, breathing, unattached male of your acquaintance who is neither your boss nor too old for you."

Oh.

Oh, no.

A pang of guilt flooded her chest, suffocating her as she realized how he had interpreted everything.

_That he saw himself as the her last option rather than her first choice._

Oh, bugger.

She had bungled this up more badly than she thought possible. She leaned forward to reach for his hand. "It isn't like that, Se_—_"

"Why not Madame Hooch?" he asked, ignoring her words and pulling away. He sat up noticeably straighter in his chair and stared at the fire. Then he barked out a hollow laugh. "If the stories are true, you would be in for the ride of your life."

:

They didn't talk much after that.

The house-elves had come around with a pot of chamomile for the two to share while he trounced her in a round of blitz chess. They usually managed some level of small talk, even if it was just him hissing at her to focus or think through her moves. He would relate the latest explosions in his classroom and go on a diatribe about the thoughtlessness of teenagers, and she would insist that he cut them some slack and give them room to learn from their mistakes.

It had always been comfortable before.

But his time, both were silent, thoughts elsewhere.

On one level, she was pleased with his answer. At least he wasn't refusing her proposition because of who she was or what she looked like. No, he was turning her down because of something entirely unrelated to the slight pudge of her belly or her tendency to nag people who disagreed with her into submission. She could accept that, even if it didn't solve her current dilemma.

It was distracting, watching his beautiful hands move pieces across the board. The confident hands of Severus Snape? #8 on the list.

She could feel him growing more sullen and withdrawn as the game progressed, a reminder of the fact that she'd hurt him somehow by her explanation of why she'd chosen him. Whatever else happened, she knew she had to do something to make amends. She just wasn't sure what.

The game was over in less than a half hour. He cleared the teapot and cups back to his tiny kitchen, and she followed after him with all the other tea things. They went through all the motions as they usually did when they had a chess night, but she couldn't help but notice that he wouldn't look at her. Not directly, anyhow.

When she left him at his door, she wished him a good night and, feeling emboldened, stood on her toes to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

Hermione headed back to her quarters feeling rather dissatisfied.

:

**AAAA! I'm so excited! By the looks of the reviews, I've got at least thirty people reading this little thing! That's about thirty more than I ever expected. Replies to all of you lovelies will be out shortly if they haven't made it out already. :) I only wish I could respond to you mysterious guests, too, but I don't think I can send messages to you. (Or can I, but I haven't figured that part of this site out yet?)**

**Is this what you expected Severus to say? Do you like Hermione's list? What else do you think is on it?**


	4. The First Attempt

Hermione was a goal-oriented woman.

Always had been, always would be. Harry and Ron had teased her about her fastidious nature when they were schoolchildren together—they'd laughed at her revision schedules, her to-do lists, and the color-coded sticky notes she used to organize her essays. It was, however, all of these things that kept Hermione focussed and enabled her to succeed. She simply worked better when she was working towards something.

Now she had two concrete somethings before her.

The first one was to convince Severus Snape that she did not consider him to be the least of all possible evils.

_Stupid, stupid man_. Why on earth would he even think that? He was a war hero. He was reasonably fit, if the cut of his robes was any indication as to the body underneath. He was brilliant to the point where most people probably didn't even the capacity to appreciate his intelligence. The sharpness of his mind? That was #4 on the Reasons to Shag Snape list. No, Hermione granted, he wasn't handsome, and no, he wasn't rich... or friendly, or good with children, or the kind of person you'd want to bring home to mum and dad, or nice at all, really, but...

But he was intriguing.

And compelling. To anyone with a brain, that is. And his black sense of humor and cutting wit were rather fun to observe as long as they were directed at someone else. When it came to what mattered, she trusted him as though he were Harry. (Not that she would tell Snape that, not unless she wanted to watch that vein above his left eye start to twitch.) She thought about showing him the list she'd come up with of reasons to shag him, but reconsidered after about two and a half seconds. If past experience was anything to go by, he'd either laugh her out of the room or think she was taking the piss, mocking him behind his back. That was one big downside to Snape: there was no way to win with the man.

The second task was to get him into her bed.

Before she had gone to Severus with what she still considered a brilliant proposition, she had temporarily kicked around the notion of approaching a charming Muggle in Kensington Gardens or some such locale. She would waltz up to a well-dressed, ringless bloke feeding the ducks by his lonesome at the Round Pond, put her hand on his arm, and convince him that he needed to come around to her place for drinks later. She'd tell him her name was... Enid... or Cate, a name that sounded intriguing and sophisticated without being pretentious or unpronounceable, and after having a bit of fun, she'd send him on his merry way. But that only worked in her imagination. In reality, she just didn't think she had it in her to approach a total stranger for a good, old-fashioned shag.

Someone she already knew seemed like a much better plan, and Severus was the first person who popped to mind. Her ideal was somebody she was comfortable with, but who wasn't likely to read to much into the arrangement. She'd thought of him right away, but then, wondering if there wasn't someone a bit more suitable or closer to her own age, tried to consider other options.

_Charlie Weasley, on his next visit to England?_ Maybe. Although, would another Weasley be complicated after Ron? Hmm. Maybe not.

_Viktor?_ He'd been enthusiastic to get under her clothes once before, and perhaps he'd want another crack at her.

_Corm_—No, no, no. She nipped that one in the bud before it even started. An odious bastard, if ever there was one.

For every other man who came to mind, Hermione came up with a half dozen reasons ruling him out. Ultimately, she just kept returning to Severus.

The man had lived a double life for decades. He had clearly mastered the ability to compartmentalize, which was a big plus for this type of casual arrangement. That alone should override any of his concerns about their working together.

More than that, she had no idea how much affection he'd been shown in his life, but it didn't seem like much. Nothing before the war, certainly, although she couldn't speak to his private life in the last decade. There was a part of her that simply wanted Severus to be cuddled and fussed over for a change, and if it had to be her to do it, well, she would take one for the team and do what needed to be done. Never let it be said that Hermione Granger lacked in altruism. Or self-interest, when the two coincided. She would get this pesky virginity business taken care of by someone she trusted, and he would enjoy himself, too. Hopefully.

If anyone deserved a happily ever after, it was Snape. Not that she presumed to be the one and only source of his happiness, but he seemed to enjoy her company and conversation. Wouldn't he also enjoy her breasts? Wouldn't he like to be caressed and kissed, even if it was by a woman who sometimes drove him batty?

She wasn't the most beautiful woman on the planet, but her body was more than presentable and her tits had been ogled by many a strange man on the tube.

Whatever else happened, she wasn't going to force herself on Severus if he really didn't want her.

It just seemed that perhaps... he did want her, at least a little bit. He'd predicted his inability to focus on work if he saw her naked, so maybe he had already entertained less-than-professional thoughts of her. Hermione was of two minds on this issue. On the one hand, he told her that he'd never consider her as a woman because she was his colleague. She wanted to accept his words at face value because she wanted to believe whatever he told her. But should she? Severus was the kind of man whose words meant three different things at the same time. On the other hand, he'd sort of blushed and hesitated, seeming even more prickly than usual as he turned her down. After all, there wasn't exactly a line of suitors beating down her door to get into her knickers.

What if was interested? She wanted it to be more than wishful thinking on her part. Knowing she needed to test her theory, she decided to wait it out for a while. The issue was too fresh and raw to pick at right away.

:

Three weeks had gone by, and not a word was spoken by either of them on the subject.

She told herself that she was lulling him into a false sense of security before she would strike again. Of course, the fact that he was still avoiding her indicated that he felt anything but secure.

They fell back into a kind of superficial camaraderie, belittling the government over morning tea and arguing over all of Headmaster Flitwick's curricula choices in staff meetings, but something was off. Every conversation was stilted, Severus was just a little too polite, and Hermione knew that he was avoiding any time alone with her. Their chess nights had ceased completely. Anytime he spoke to her, at least one other person was present. Even when they chatted over meals, Severus couldn't quite look her in the eye.

For his part, it seemed clear that he was trying to pretend as though the whole thing had never happened. He had been so stunned by her proposal. As much as she took a perverse sort of pleasure in rattling the unflappable Severus Snape, she knew that something needed to change.

:

Then one rainy Saturday, Madame Pince closed down the library to students. All the professors were to look over their subject holdings, clean out the useless holdings to another room in the castle, and make more room for new acquisitions.

When Hermione began culling the Charms section, there was nobody else in sight. She took advantage of the empty space, peeling off her outer robes. The room was a bit stuffy despite the onset of autumn. She was left in a pair of trousers and a fitted sweater with about a half dozen quills tucked into the messy bun of hair atop her head. It was nearing three solid hours of cataloging fifteenth- and sixteenth-century Charms manuals 'for Magickeful Young Ladyes', and she was getting ready to call it a night.

Just as she was about to pack up her things, Hermione heard someone else joining her in the cavernous space. Familiar-sounding hard-soled shoes echoed down the length of the open hall. _His_ shoes. She decided to stay and push her luck. When she looked up, there he was, dressed in his usual black. Was she imagining that look of mild panic in his eyes?

He faltered for a minute, nodded to her, and walked over to the Potions section of the library.

Hermione spent a few minutes rearranging stacks of books. Ostensibly, she was sorting them into piles for the library to keep or toss out. In reality, she was still deciding what to say to Severus. She was waffling between the subtle approach and a more direct tactic. Grabbing her wand, she whispered the incantation to lock the doors. Then she roamed over to his piles of books, boldly leaning up against a heavy wooden desk.

"Wouldn't this be the perfect height for a quick shag?" she asked him, demurely running her hand over the smooth surface.

Direct it was.

All the blood left his cheeks as he slowly turned to face her.

"I'll just hop up here," she said, hoisting herself up onto the high ledge, "and you can have at me."

"Professor Granger!" he hissed, glancing to his left and to his right. "Schoolchildren read and write on these tables. Consider what you're suggesting and behave with a modicum of decorum."

"Oh, pish," she said, smiling to herself at his prudish words. In his manners, he was an odd mixture of contradictions, volleying between a priggish, old-fashioned politeness and a rude, blunt demeanor. Hermione enjoyed the paradox. "I would never say such a thing if any of our little darlings were in here. It's just you and me now, Severus."

"Granger," he growled quietly, a note of warning in his resonant voice.

"Or maybe this isn't the right height?" she asked, looking down to the ground, mentally comparing her current elevation to the Severus' corresponding bits. "You know, it might be an inch or two too tall." She beckoned him over, reaching out with open arms in invitation. "Come over here and let's test it out."

"Granger," he groaned, rubbing his temples. "Why are you doing this?"

"I'm giving you the chance to change your mind," she said, optimism thrumming through her body.

"Obstinate, insufferable woman." He had muttered to himself, but Hermione could just make out the words. Then he spoke up, a note of command in his voice. "Come down from there this minute."

She sighed and dropped her arms. "Would you at least help me down?"

He walked over to her side, but when he was close enough to reach her, he stopped. He leaned in a bit closer and looked up at her. "No."

"No?" She tried batting her eyelashes to give off an impression of innocence, but by the look on his face, she knew she was failing miserably.

"By now, I know better than to trust you when you're in a state," he said, looking at her askance. He turned around and started walking away. He called over his shoulder, "Now move your bloody arse."

"All right, all right," she grumbled, disappointed at his refusal. Perhaps the direct approach was not the wisest course of action. Clumsily sliding to the ground, she landed in an awkward heap and tipped over onto the stone floor.

Guilt sent him running in her direction. He grabbed her wrists and roughly helped her to her feet, shaking his head. "That was, what, twenty centimeters to the ground? I'm astonished you can walk, athletic wonder that you are."

"Thank you!" she agreed, her words emphatic. She dusted off her backside and righted her twisted sweater. Laughing it off, she smiled at him. "I try to explain this to Ron and Harry when they badger me about flying, but they don't believe me. They're still convinced that I'm teachable. I think I would kill some innocent bystander if they forced me onto a broom."

"Your complete lack of physical coordination does you no favors in this debate, Granger." He leaned back against a card catalog, pinching the bridge of his nose with long fingers. "How do I know I won't be the bystander you accidentally slaughter if I take you to bed?"

Her eyes grew wide. It sounded like he was actually considering it.

Her mind wandered as she considered the possibilities of whatever injury he was imagining. "Could I really kill a man that way?" She'd read a newspaper article once on older gentlemen having heart attacks in the throes of passion. _Their poor lovers_, she thought. That would more be enough to scar a person for life and put them off sex forever. Then she frowned, drumming her fingertips on her chin. "I can't see that happening with us, can you? I wouldn't have my wand on me, so there would be no accidental misfirings. I wouldn't be levitating above you, so—"

She cut herself off abruptly.

"What, Granger?"

"_Could_ one levitate? I didn't even think about that." Hermione knew the basics about the birds and bees from that awkward chat with her mum at age ten. Although she had extensively researched women's health issues on her own as she grew up, she had done it through the local library in Exeter near her parent's home. She'd never considered that the art of lovemaking might be different for her as a witch. She looked up at him, certain he would be straight with her even if he wasn't quite meeting her eyes. "Is sex in the Wizarding world different than for Muggles, Severus?"

"Sex is... Well, sex is sex, I believe," he said gruffly. In a single swift gesture, he pulled out a chair, twirled it around, and dropped into it. "You do realize the absurdity of this conversation, don't you?"

"Why?" She followed his lead with significantly less grace, sitting down beside him in the solid library chairs. "It is perfectly acceptable for friends to ask each other things when they don't know the answer."

"Friends," he repeated quietly.

"Yes, aren't we?" she asked.

He didn't answer.

"I feel like you've been avoiding me lately," she said. "How will my chess game ever improve if you won't play with me?"

"Yes, well..." His voice trailed off. A moment passed between them, and then he cocked his head to look at her. "Would you care to explain how you can blithely offer yourself to me on a library desk today? Less than a month ago, you couldn't utter the word 'sex' without stammering."

Bugger. She'd hoped he hadn't noticed. "Er..."

"Yes, Granger?"

"First off, I'd like to point out that I didn't have a problem with the word 'sex.' I had a problem asking you for it, since I'd never done that before. It's easy to discuss these things in a sort of clinical light." Testing his comfort zone, she grinned at him and proceeded to demonstrate. "I can tell you all about sex and vaginas and breasts and clitorises—or is the plural of that clitori? I'll need to look that up—"

"Focus, Granger."

"I digress."

"Constantly."

"Yes, well..." Hermione felt sufficiently chastised. She massaged the back of her neck. "It's a different thing to talk about your own bits and bobs, and it's a very different thing to talk about what you're doing with them."

"Or not doing with them, as the case may be."

"There_ is_ that." She swallowed hard. "I may have... practiced."

He looked at her quizzically. "And how, pray tell, does one practice this sort of thing?"

Her cheeks grew warm.

"Did you, for example," he inquired, "ask a"—he scanned the room, mirth in his eyes—"a floor lamp for a spot of sexual congress?"

She bit her tongue and waited for his wit to dry up.

"No?"

She held his gaze, determined to hold her ground.

"No, the lamp might kiss and tell," he stated dramatically. He shook him head in mock solemnity. "That would never do." He looked around again, his eyes settling on an oversized wooden coat rack in the corner behind Madame Pince's desk. He nodded in its direction. "Perhaps you asked that tall fellow for a fuck, hmm?"

"Are you finished here?" she asked, arms folded beneath her breasts.

"Let's say that I am," he stated. "Good God, Granger, do I want to know how you prepared yourself for this little display?"

She considered not telling him. That's what she would have done with Ron, just to push his buttons. Of course, Severus' buttons were quite different. She allowed her gaze to wander down the neat row of black buttons that adorned his slender chest. Staring at his feet, she mumbled out the words. "I have a few friendly portraits in my quarters, you see. There's an French astronomer in one, and he's been quite accommodating."

"You practiced on a portrait?"

"He was very kind." Hermione smoothed out her hair and tucked it behind her ears. "A bit too kind, actually. He acquiesced far too quickly each time I asked him for a kiss. I had to wheedle him into putting up more of a fight so that he sounded like you."

He barked out a laugh. "Did you finally convince him to refuse you?"

She grinned. "I did."

"Well, then," he said, straightening up and pushing his chair back under the library desk. "You have your answer, haven't you?"

Although he had refused her proposal for now, Hermione was a patient woman. Obstinate and insufferable, he'd called her.

She was determined to show Severus Snape just how stubborn she could be.

:

**Hello, my dear readers!**

**I love the idea of gift fic, so I thought I'd offer one. Whoever sends in the 100th review wins a longish drabble or shortish story (500-1000 words or so... or longer, if it keeps on going) on the prompt of their choosing. Any set of characters, any genre. It might take us a few chapters before we get to 100, or—Who knows? Maybe we'll never get there—but I'll keep my eyes peeled and send you a PM if you're lucky #100.**


	5. The Second Attempt

**My dear readers,**

**Sorry for the delay! I've been under the weather. If reviews are anything to judge matters on, I think I lost about third of you last chapter. I'm so sorry it disappointed! Hopefully you'll enjoy this one a bit more? Or let me know how I can improve? Thank you so much to all of you (almost 200!) who have put this story on alert or favorited it, and thanks especially to my reviewers. I love reading your observations, takes on the chapter, and predictions for the future. And I appreciate the encouragement more than I can say.**

:

"Check." Hermione was bursting with delight as she moved her bishop into position. It was a rare night when she made it this far in a game with him. Although she hadn't beaten him yet, she was inching closer and closer to a win.

She was relieved that she had been able to badger him back into resuming their weekly chess nights. He was, after all, an integral part her schedule of friends and coworkers. On Sunday afternoons, she and Neville puttered around in the spare greenhouses or talked over their lesson plans with one another in a sort of new teacher solidarity. Sometimes they cooked dinner together, if by "together," one meant "he prepared something delicious and she washed the dishes." Thursday evenings were medical training sessions with Poppy. Hermione had asked to learn the basics of Healing in the hopes of developing medical charms someday. It was into Hogsmeade for drinks on Friday night with Hagrid and anyone else on staff who cared to show up. McGonagall and Filch and Hooch were regulars. Even Pomona Sprout joined them on occasion, bored in her retirement as she was. Tuesday chess nights with Snape had been much harder to procure, but determination and routinely showing up with his favorite alcohol, a gin with a hint of cucumbers, had done the trick. These last few Tuesdays without his company had felt empty. Too quiet. She told herself that she would have been equally upset had Neville bailed on her or had Poppy terminated her informal Mediwitchery lessons, and she tried not to examine her own feelings on the subject any further.

Now they were in his quarters, playing their third game of the evening. His rooms were the mirror image of hers, as far as she could tell. There was a long entryway that opened up into a large sitting room. Where hers opened up to the right, his opened to the left. Continuing through the sitting room, there was a small kitchenette in a closed off space, and another long hallway that led to a bathroom, a spare room, and a bedroom. His sitting room was sparsely furnished: a pair of heavy leather wingback chairs flanking a small table sat in front of a cold fireplace, and the walls were lined with bookshelves. There was a smattering of other odds and ends, but items she liked the most were the old turntable in the corner and his collection of records. They were surprisingly Muggle for Snape, who still dressed in fitted robes whenever he left his chambers. Tonight, he had selected some Miles Davis records and turned the volume on low.

He was relaxed and at ease, sitting back in his chair as he sipped his bitter black tea. He studied her over the chess board. "Are you absolutely certain, Granger?"

"Er..." Damn that man. Either she had made a false move, or she was actually doing well and he was just toying with her mind, making her doubt herself. She gave the board another quick once over. "Er... Yes. Yes, I'm sure."

He moved his bishop diagonally across the board, protecting his king and threatening her queen in the process.

She knew she had to save her queen, so she moved her four spaces to the left.

He countered with his remaining knight. "Checkmate."

"Oh." She grimaced.

"Hence my earlier question."

"Drat." She sighed, slumping back in her chair and shaking her head. "I though I was getting better at this."

"You are," he said. "Your chess game is terrible."

"Is that your idea of a compliment?" she asked. She shot him a confused look and pulled a woolen throw blanket off the back of her chair onto her lap. It said a great deal about their tentative friendship that Hermione felt comfortable enough in his quarters to make herself at home. He still went into conniptions if she tried to wash a dish or lift a finger in his kitchen, but she could swing pillows and blankets around with the best of them.

"You were abysmal when you started playing me. I think you'll agree that terrible is several steps up from abysmal." He played mother, refilling both of their teacups. He passed her the honey jar he kept in his cupboard for her use. Heaven forbid Snape like anything sweet himself. The plate of sweets he provided for their evening consisted of candied ginger and salty black licorice, although she knew that the ginger was another concession he had made for her. "After a few months, you had improved to the point of being atrocious. You worked your way up to being piss poor by the end of last year, but now you're simply terrible. Congratulations."

"What flattery," Hermione muttered under her breath. She stirred several heaping teaspoons of honey into her teacup and wrapped both hands around it, trying to warm herself up. "Should I aspire to become a lousy chess player? Lousy is a step up from terrible, isn't it?"

"Shoot for the stars, Granger," he said. He took another slow sip of his tea. "If you work on your game, you might even be rubbish someday."

"This is why I think we should play backgammon." She held her cup up to her cheek, trying to leech some warmth through the porcelain.

He flicked his wand at the dying embers in the fireplace, making them roar to life.

"Thank you."

"You might have just asked, but your melodramatic hypothermia routine has improved. Much subtler than last time," he said, pointing to the cup she had pressed against her nose.

"This was no routine," she insisted, setting the cup down beside the board. "Your quarters are freezing. I honestly don't know how you take it."

He ran his long fingers down his lapel. "One hundred percent wool, Granger. You need to upgrade your robes now that you're living in the north."

She chuckled into her tea. Hermione had never dreamed she'd receive fashion advice from Severus Snape. "I'd rather enjoy my fireplace, thank you very much. The smell of the wood is too delightful to pass up, and it's so cozy. I think you'd like it if you gave it a chance, Severus. Crookshanks curls up on my lap as I drink hot cider."

"Your beast will make a lovely hat someday," he said, his eyes bright. "Such distinctive coloring should fetch a good price."

"I might believe you if I hadn't found fresh catnip in my quarters last month," Hermione challenged. Indeed, Crookshanks had the strangest affinity for Snape. He avoided all her other colleagues, but came around whenever Severus was over just to ignore the man at a distance of ten feet. The only person Crookshanks trusted more was Luna, who would sit on the floor beside him and purr in what Hermione could only assume was an attempt at nonverbal communication. "He loves it, by the way. Goes a bit crazy in the wee hours of the night, though."

"Why do you assume it was I?" he asked, keeping a straight face. "Longbottom keeps some in greenhouse seven. Perhaps he's wooing you through your monster."

"Well, then, that _must_ be it," she said, her voice laced in an exaggerated sarcasm that proved how much Severus was rubbing off on her. "He's dating Hannah exclusively now, but he's trying to extend an invitation to _me_ of all people by seducing my cat with hallucinatory herbs. And although he hasn't actually been in my quarters since the catnip arrived, and although you, Severus, clearly know which greenhouses hold the catnip and have been the only other person in my quarters since—"

"Maintaining a superfluous fire is a waste of a good house-elf," Severus interrupted, cutting her off before she could acknowledge his affection for her cat aloud. "Besides, you must realize that I've lived here decades longer than you. Why on earth would I change something that clearly works?"

She laughed. "You're maddeningly stubborn, Severus. You never know how much you'll like something new until you give it a go. You need to try new things," she insisted, reaching across the table to poke his chest. Forgetting the chess board and all its pieces in front of her, she nestled into her chair. "Along that line, I will reiterate. Let's have a go at backgammon next time," she said. "I'll bring my board."

"So that I can experience more in life?" he asked skeptically. "You claim to be doing this for my own good and expand my horizons, but I know the truth." He leaned in to whisper his accusations. "You want to best me in something, Granger. You ruthless, heartless woman."

"I _am_ an excellent Backgammon player," she said. "But it's not all about winning. It's also a fun game. Sometimes Neville and I play when we have loads of marking to do."

He snorted. "And who usually wins?"

She smiled mischievously. "I do." She placed her cup down on the table. "Hnefatafl?"

"Bless you."

"No, I mean, why don't we play Hnefatafl?" Hermione had a board stashed away in her parents' home from when she was younger. She could bring it back after her visit there over the upcoming holidays. "It's an earlier version of chess, but Norse, I believe, or Scottish."

"I know what it is, Granger. I don't care about its historical roots. I refuse to play a game that sounds like a sudden, involuntary expulsion of air from one's nostrils."

"Poker?"

"I refuse to dignify that with a response." He waved his hands over the chess board, rearranging the pieces so that they were in the same places they had been before she checked his king. "Look at the board again."

She took a few moments to do so. "I did."

"Now think about what my next move will be."

Hermione's eyes swept over the carved pieces and contemplated Severus' next move. A flick of his wand, and the chess board rotated around as if she were playing his black pieces. After orienting herself to this perspective, she sifted through her options. If she were Severus, she could move her king one step away or take her bishop with his—

"Your problem is the always the same, Granger. You lack any kind of patience or restraint." He started moving the pieces to show her all of her options. "Don't get distracted by the easy check. Your goal is to win, is it not?"

"Of course it is."

"Then think long term. You'll never get what you want unless you go for checkmate."

:

Hermione didn't sleep much that night. His words kept echoing in her mind as she tried to drift off. _Don't be impatient. Think long term._ Was he right?

Yes, she was a bit impatient at times. She went after what she wanted and she got it. She didn't see what the problem was. It had worked for her so far in life. When the world needed to be rid of an evil overlord, she had plotted out everything she and Harry and Ron had needed, sent her folks off to another continent with appropriately forged paperwork and false identities, and set out to destroy the bits of said evil overlord's soul that had been attached to historical objects of importance. No problem. Truthfully, the packing had taken the longest. All in all, she only had one regret. Nobody had ever told her just how awful teenaged boys could smell in close quarters. If she ever ran across another eighteen-year-old girl who was about to travelling for an indeterminate length of time with two teenaged boys, she would encourage that girl to learn from her mistakes and pack scented candles.

Her impatience had worked for her after the war, too. She knew she had to pounce in the immediate aftermath of the Ministry collapse. Within a week of the battle at Hogwarts, Hermione devised a 10-year plan to correct all the discriminatory laws still standing. She crammed her revision for her N.E.W.T.s into two crazy months, passed her exams with top marks, connived Dumbledore's portrait to teach her Mermish and Gobbledegook, encouraged Harry to speak out about the contributions that Remus and Dobby made during the war, and landed an entry-level position at the Ministry. Easy. All the research on blood status laws was conducted by Hermione's team of researchers, and a prominent member of the Wizengamot introduced the bill she authored into law within the first year of her work there. She couldn't care less that her name wasn't attached to it. The Popplewell Bill outlawed any and all blood status registries and struck the 'Pureblood - Halfblood - Muggleborn' ticky boxes from all official forms. Creature status legislation had taken longer, but she authored several studies with the merpeople of the Black Lake, Grawp's fellow giants, and the goblins at Gringotts to give them a platform for their own requests. Eventually Minister Shacklebolt sponsored the Lupin Law himself once Hermione had finished drafting it to his approval, and it was illegal to discriminate against anyone based on their creature status.

If there was one thing she had learned from having Harry Potter as a best friend, it was this: you could do almost anything if you didn't care about receiving any credit.

At 27, Hermione had accomplished everything she had set out to do. Her parents were back to fixing overbites in Dorset, the world was safe, and thanks to the laws she helped pass, nobody could doubt her status as a witch.

Now, if her snotty little students were anything to go by, people simply doubted her status as a woman.

She stopped herself there, remembering all the things she loved about teaching. She adored them, really she did. The look on one of their faces when they understood something for the first time? Priceless. And there was something so horrible about puberty. Thirteen and fourteen must be the most painfully awkward years for everybody. It was a strange gift, she thought, watching an entire generation survive adolescence.

So she returned to Hogwarts, her first home in the magical world. She needed a change and she wanted the challenge. It was a bit lonely at times, living in the castle rather than in her flat in central London, but she'd been lonely for a while. Her circle of peers was about the same size, oddly enough. Instead of Harry and Ginny and the kids, Hermione had Neville and Hagrid for her pseudo-family. It was like swapping out a brother and a sister for a cousin and an enormous, hairy uncle, but it was family nonetheless. Instead of Kingsley as a boss, she had Filius. Instead of Julian, Imogen, and Rufus in the cubicles next to her, she had Septima and Rolanda and Davies beside her at the head table. And Severus, of course.

:

After giving his chess instruction a bit more thought, Hermione wondered if he hadn't been trying to tell her something else. Could he be referring to her failed attempts to seduce him? If that were the case, he seemed to be asking for more of a commitment from her, some sign that she was really invested in him as a potential lover and that she hadn't just propositioned him on a whim. She decided that he must be asking for a grand gesture to prove her interest wasn't fleeting. Words hadn't done the trick in the library—_Merlin! He'd laughed her off!_—so she needed to escalate her approach.

The following Tuesday afternoon, Hermione owled Severus to meet her in her chambers that evening for a game of chess at their usual time. He agreed, and Hermione began to prepare.

She loved her homey living room. A squashy brown leather sofa covered in pillows faced the fireplace. She had positioned a large coffee table in front of it in order to be able to prop her feet up, and a tufted armchair covered in a loud chinoiserie print was on the other side, closer to the fire screen. Her desk was underneath the window so that she could look over the grounds to the Forbidden Forest while she wrote.

Anticipating all of his favorite things, she arranged an excellent bottle of gin next to an empty glass and a bowl of ice cubes charmed not to melt. Since she was bollocks in kitchen herself, she had asked Tilly, the house-elf assigned to her care, for a few nibbles she knew he loved. (It had taken a long heart-to-heart with Tilly when Hermione had first arrived at Hogwarts before they cleared up any confusion as to what each expected of the other, but they eventually came to an understanding.)

Then Hermione hopped into the shower to freshen up and wash her hair for the second time that day. The bathrooms at Hogwarts rivaled any spa or salon in Europe, what with their adjustable temperature settings and the sunken marble tubs. They were heavenly, but not even twenty minutes in the steam could do much to calm her growing nerves. Was she taking things too far? Or was this exactly what Severus was asking for? How would he react? When she emerged, she wrapped herself in a towel and went to inspect everything. She ducked into the living room to check the clock on the wall.

It was seven minutes to 8 pm, and Tilly had just delivered one tray of sushi and another heaping plate of chips with a bottle of malt vinegar. Perfect. Severus had such eclectic tastes.

Making a mental note to thank Tilly later, Hermione went back into her room and slipped into a pair of silk trousers. Her hair was still dripping, but she was running out of time, so a quick spell later and it had frizzed up in wild, but dry, glory. _Good enough_, Hermione thought. _He probably won't notice, all things considered._

Two minutes to eight.

She returned to the living room and paced in circles, awaiting his knock. Should she answer the door? She could stand there and wait for him. On the other hand, he might bolt, and that would never do. She needed him to come all the way into her living room. She frantically looked around, deciding the best place to position herself. After a moment or two of fretting, she took her place in the middle of the sofa. That would do. Then she kicked her legs up on the coffee table and propped her arms along its back. Oh, that did wonders for her tits. Much better. They looked as perky as they did when she was seventeen.

Now she waited.

She jumped when he knocked. "Come in, Severus," she called from the sofa.

"You're not going to answer the door?" he asked through the wood.

"It's open," she responded. Her voice cracked a little bit. "Please close the door behind you."

She tried to hide her nerves with a toothy smile as she waited for him to walk the length of the entryway.

"All right, Granger," he said. "I'm coming."

She heard the click of the latch behind him, and his careful footsteps down the hallway.

"I see you shelled out for the good stuff, Granger." The coffee table was visible the door, and he plucked the empty glass and gin bottle from the table to pour himself a tumblerful.

Then he turned to her.

And stopped.

He stopped breathing, stopped blinking, and certainly stopped holding that glass. It slipped from his fingers and crashed to the floor in shards.

She scrambled to pick up her wand, then reassembled the glass and returned it on the table.

"You could—Why the—" he spluttered. His eyes were glued to her body. "Have you taken leave of your senses, woman?"

She settled back into place, arms extended along the sofa.

"They're just breasts, Severus," she said, almost apologetically. Oh, dear. She had thought that this would have gone more smoothly. Broken glassware was not a part of her plan.

"I'm not an idiot, Granger. I can see that your... your..."

He hadn't actually looked her in the eye yet, and she was growing a bit uncomfortable by the well-lit scrutiny she was receiving. She should have turned the overhead lighting off and relied on the flattering flickers of dim firelight. _Next time, old girl_, she thought to herself. She couldn't keep the blush from spreading across her cheeks, and she now held onto the hope that it hadn't spread down to the body parts in question. "Breasts, Severus."

"I can see very well what they are."

"Come now, Severus," Hermione said, her voice warm and as steady as she could manage. "Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself." She tried to remain playful and wait for him to something—_anything_—whether it be to relax or to jump her or to run away screaming. "Have a seat and I'll set up, shall I?"

He was still staring at her tits.

"Set up... Set..."

He seemed temporarily incapable of finishing that sentence, so Hermione patted the seat next to her and turned the chess board so they could both reach it. "A game of chess, Severus? Unless you're changed your mind and would like to play backgammon after all?"

With the word "backgammon," something in him snapped. His eyes met hers for a moment before he whirled around on the spot. He was fiddling with something in his coat, but she couldn't tell what.

Before she could make out the Latin words he murmured under his breath, a large white cloth was being thrust in her general direction.

"Put that on," he snapped.

She looked it over, noting the initials S.T.S. embroidered into the collar. _Oh. _He had transfigured his handkerchief into a hideous, ill-fitting jacket. He had made her something to cover herself. She didn't know if she should be offended or touched.

"Is it on?" he asked, his voice a dull rasp.

She slipped it on, wrapping it around her torso. "Yes, Severus," she answered. "It's on."

He turned and faced her once more. Once he had determined that she was no longer a threat, he looked at the seat beside her on the sofa, the place she had invited him to sit. Then his eyes darted to the empty armchair, and he strode over and sat down. Still ignoring her, he stretched his body across the table to pour himself a tumblerful of gin.

She had absolutely no idea what he was thinking, so she waited for him to collect himself. She watched him down a glass of gin. Straight. He would be breathing fire tonight. After that, he methodically devoured all the fatty tuna nigiri, and poured himself another glass of gin.

He took a swig and reluctantly spoke up, confused and restrained. "I don't know what you want here, Granger."

That seemed rather unfair. She thought she had made herself perfectly clear. "I just want you, Severus."

He frowned and shook his head. "I don't know what you_ really_ want here, Granger," he clarified, now quietly seething, "but I never thought you would do... that you even could do..." He was at a loss for words. "Clothe yourself properly and we will pretend this never happened."

She was livid. "How dare you, Severus!" she exclaimed. A small fury was rolling off her in waves as she stood. "I may be many things, but I am always a woman of my word!" She turned her back on him and tried to keep her voice steady. "This was a mistake. I don't know what I was thinking. Let me throw something on. When I return, we will start tonight over and never, _ever_ speak of this again." She marched down the hallway to her bedroom and slammed the door closed behind her before he could hear her bursting into tears.

Hermione gave herself sixty seconds of unfettered emotional release before washing her face and preparing herself to rejoin Severus. Digging around in her closet, she fished out the frumpiest sweater she owned, a Molly Weasley creation from a few years back, and slipped it over her head.

She didn't know that he was already regretting his words and second guessing himself in the other room. When she fled, he stalked over to the window, his thoughts scattered as he looked out upon the new moon. He leaned against her desk and sighed. What a bloody mess they had on their hands. She should have known better than to stir this pot.

A commotion from her room told him that she was returning, so he turned to walk back to her hideous armchair.

A scroll of paper under stack of books caught his eye. It looked like a list of some sort, and it was long, numbered down to 26. Granger and her lists. Some things would never change.

Wait. Was that his name?

:

**Duh duh duh! The plot thickens. **

**We have a winner! The 100th review was from Goldilocks 92, who is drumming up prompts as we speak. I'll let you all know when it's ready to share. (In the meanwhile, the next gift ficlet will happen when we hit the 200th review.)**


	6. The Floo Call

**Holy Hinkypunks! You all knock my socks off with all your enthusiasm and reviews on the last chapter. As a result, we have a winner! The 100th reviewer was Goldilocks 92. She gave me some killer prompts, so I'll let you all know when it's ready to share. ****The next gift ficlet will happen if we ever hit a 200th review. (Although rather than giving it to #200, I think I'll go to an online randomizer to pick a number between 101 and 200, and use that number to identify the recipient. This way everyone's eligible, and I suppose if you review twice, it's like two raffle tickets. Anyhoo...)**

**All of you make this whole writing thing so much fun. Warmest thanks go again to the mighty Aurette, for giving me permission to use her tale as inspiration. I just reread her short stories "Conversations on a Broom" and "Appetizers" and died laughing. Such great stuff! And a very special thanks to those of you who leave words, however many or few, saying what you enjoyed (or what drove you batty) while reading.****  
**

:

Another loud door slam heralded her return.

Severus made a quick decision. It was a knee-jerk reaction to seeing his name in her handwriting, he supposed. While he hadn't plan on violating her privacy, his name there on the page more than entitled him to know what she was scribbling about. It might even explain the lunacy that had taken over her otherwise excellent mind. He snatched a loose sheet of paper of her desk and muttered a quick duplication spell. Done. Slipping the list into his pocket to peruse later at his leisure, he returned to her garish yellow armchair as she stomped down the hallway with angry footsteps.

She plopped down into the middle of her sofa wearing a beige nobbly sweater with an orange cat on it. It three sizes too large and had 'Weasley' written all over it. Her feet were bare, toes painted a pale pink, and she had pulled up her mop of hair into a messy knot, exposing the fair skin of her neck to him. She pulled her long legs up underneath her and crossed them.

The woman was engaging the gin bottle in a staring contest, eyes red-rimmed but dry.

Damn. He was a bastard of the highest order.

At least now she would back off and stop offering her body for his one-time use.

It wasn't his fault that no other man had the bollocks to step up and pursue her properly. She should have disposed with her virginity years ago. Hell, how she wasn't constantly beating away suitors daily was beyond his comprehension. Fools. Of course, any male who had been with her at school was probably terrified of her on some level, and rightly so. Anyone who met her after the war was probably too in awe of the woman to do anything about it. She would be exhausting as a partner in bed or in life, but she would certainly never be boring.

If he were good enough for her, he might have gone after her himself. If he were twenty years younger, if he had never been her bloody professor, if he had been an honorable man rather than a traitor whose life exploded into shambles. If he wore a different face—he didn't need to be handsome, just needed not to be the repulsive fellow he was. If he were even remotely good with women. If he were rich and could give her everything she desired but was too selfless to ask for.

Instead, he was a pathetic sod.

Even worse was the fact that after his behavior here tonight, she knew it. He'd stood there gaping at the loveliest breasts he'd ever set eyes on, like she was a piece of choice meat or the saltiest licorice fish in the package. Had she tried to talk to him? He thought that perhaps she had, but he barely noticed.

Nothing about Granger made any fucking sense anymore. When she was a whinging little arm waver in his Potions class, he knew what to expect. She was a manic bundle of hair and teeth and the constant need to validate her capabilities. Now? He hardly knew what to make of her. She was as bossy as she ever had been, only he was now the subject of her demands rather than her housemates.

She'd traipsed into Hogwarts a year ago and thrown herself down next to him at their first staff meeting, yammering on about how glad she was to see him and how honored she was to work with him. She did the same thing to Minerva when the older witch joined them, and Vector, too. Not Trelawney or Davies, he'd noted.

And now she sat across from him, practically comatose.

He set up the chess pieces and angled the board between them.

With a flick of her wrist, she summoned a second glass from her kitchen, snatched it from the air, and poured herself a stiff drink. Then she pulled the plate of chips into her lap and drowned them in malt vinegar.

"Your move, Granger."

"Hmm?" She was startled out of her thoughts.

"Your move."

"Of course it is," she grumbled, moving her pawn forward two spaces. Before she took her hand away, she slid the pawn back one space.

There was something unnatural about seeing her this dejected. "Timid, Granger."

Her eyes flashed and the woman he knew returned. "I can't believe you have the gall to say that to me tonight, of all nights!"

He reached over to her lap and grabbed a handful of chips. "Just in your game. Certainly not in life."

"Do you think this is a game to me?" she asked. Her eyes narrowed and she eyed him suspiciously.

"We both know that whatever it is you think you want, you do not actually want me."

"Oh, do we?"

"You are all talk."

"I'm pretty sure I just showed a bit than talk tonight."

He stilled. If he discomfited her, would she let it drop? "And how will it be when I take you, hmm? Rainbows and angelic choirs singing? The heavens opening up and unicorns prancing with delight?"

She pointed some chips at him accusatorially. "If you do the job adequately, I believe _I_ will be the one singing and the unicorns should be backing out of the room slowly."

"So just rainbows and heavens, then?" he asked, a tinge of bitterness in his voice. "You don't ask for much, do you?"

"Honestly, I don't know how it will be." She fidgeted in her seat and put the chips back on the table. "That's rather the point, isn't it? I don't know what it will be like for me and I don't know how you... what you... like. At all. I was never one to speculate about my professor's love lives, but now that we're colleagues and friends, I just... That is, you're just so competent, Severus, and good with your hands, and you're obsessive about details, which makes a girl think that if you directed any bit of that towards her, that—Well, that is, I think that if you directed any of it towards me, that—"

"Granger, stop." With expectations like that, any man would disappoint her. He returned his attention to the chess board and advanced his knight. "First times are rubbish. They are for everyone. Hypothetically, they are even worse for women."

"That's why I was hoping to convince you to agree to more than one night." She moved her knight forward as well.

"I have no desire to leave you sobbing in my wake, even if it is only once."

"Why do you assume I'll break down?"

He pushed a pawn forward and glanced at her. "Find someone else. I know I am, as you say, here and unmarried, which seems to make me an acceptable substitute for whoever it is you're looking for, but find another man. It shouldn't be difficult."

Her eyebrow raised at that, but she wisely kept her lips shut.

His words were challenging, and he spoke to the bottom of his glass more than to her. "Find the man you actually want."

They continued on with their chess game, a stalemate of words as he beat her soundly, twice. They were in the middle of a third game when the telltale sounds of the Floo disturbed them, a sputtering and shuffling of the embers beneath the andirons.

The flames flashed an emerald green and the head of Ginevra Weasley Potter bobbed in the fireplace. "Hermione? Hermione?" she called.

Hermione smiled at her friend. "Hi, Gin."

"I'm so glad I caught you!" She chuckled to herself and rolled her eyes at her own joke. "It's a weeknight. Where else would you be but at home, curled up in your pyjamas?"

Hermione didn't answer.

"Listen, I was wondering if I could ask you for a favor?"

"Of course," Hermione answered quietly.

She finally noticed that something was off with her friend. "Hermione, is everything okay?"

"What? Yes, of course it is, Ginny. I'm just playing Severus in chess."

"Oh, hello, Professor!" She tutted him in a way that sounded eerily reminiscent of her mother. "Are you making our dear girl cry?"

He wasn't about to tell her that, yes, indeed, Hermione's bleary eyes were because of him. The girl had far too much of her mother in her and he liked his bollocks attached to his body. If Hermione ever got her way, he assumed she would prefer them attached as well.

The redhead laughed uncontrollably. "Relax, Professor. You're winning, I assume?"

He nodded.

"I knew it!" She sounded triumphant. "Hermione's far too competitive!" She turned to her friend. "Seriously, it's just a game. Make him play you in backgammon if your ego needs stroking."

He watched Hermione slam down another drink. She was displeased, and not with him.

"What's up, Ginny?" she asked brusquely.

Deciding that he was entirely out of place, he stood up and headed into her kitchen to give her a bit of privacy. It was a mess, but then, so was its owner at times. He dug through the disarray in her fridge until he found a bottle of tonic water. She would need this to cut the liquor she had been consuming. Perhaps he should just brew a pot of chamomile. He put the kettle on. Then he walked to the door, listening to determine whether or not it was safe to return.

"Harry's been planning this for weeks. We wanted to celebrate together, but he never could get the week off at work. Even if he did, we'd have James and Al around, and they tend to put a damper on things when they heat up."

"Gin, I do not need to hear about things 'heating up' with Harry. He's like my brother."

"Sorry, Hermione! I'm just so randy all the time, and he does this amazing thing with my—"

"GINNY!" Hermione hollered. "I love you, I do, but—"

"Right. Sorry. I'm just so relieved the morning sickness is over. That's the worst. When I vomit, my stomach aches and it's like there's a river of—"

"That sounds awful," Hermione interrupted her, abruptly cutting her off before things got even more graphic.

"I think this is the last time, though. I have a good feeling about this one being a girl, and if that's the case? We're stopping."

"You know you said that last time," Hermione teased her.

"I know, I know... But Al's such a darling." She sighed. "If you can take them on Friday afternoon, Mum and Dad will have them from Sunday night on, and Harry and I will get them back at the end of the week."

"What time should I pick them up at your place?"

"Why would you pick them up?"

"To bring back here. I'll transfigure some pillows into beds for the boys in the spare room. You know how much James loves Crookshanks. I thought they'd like visiting Hagrid and seeing some of the plants Neville's growing these days. We could even meet up with George in Hogsmeade."

"Oh, nonsense. You'll stay at our house. I'll set up the guest room for you. Just think, Hermione, you'll be in a real house for a change, even if it is only temporary. Just like an actual grown-up. That way, the boys can stay in their own rooms. Crooks can come along, if you'd like."

"I do live in a real house," she said indignantly. "A castle, even. But... I guess I can do that. If it's easier on the boys not to disturb their routines."

"Brilliant! Then you'll have them until Sunday evening, and Mum and Dad will come then."

"Should I launder the bedclothes for the guest room for them?"

"You needn't bother. The boys are going to the Burrow."

He listened, but there wasn't a peep coming out of Hermione. He was waiting for an explosion of some sort over the blatant double standards that were being set down for her. None came. Picturing her twitching in silence as she restrained herself, he put the tonic water back into her fridge, poured the tea, and summoned her honey.

"Anyway, thanks again, Hermione! You know you're their favorite auntie. I'll see you Friday. Ta!"

The Floo kicked up again, and when he rejoined Hermione with a pot of tea and a bottle of tonic water, Mrs. Potter was gone.

"Tea?" he asked, setting everything down on the table.

"_Gods_, yes," she replied. She closed her eyes and let her head drop against the back of her sofa.

He fixed her tea the way she liked it, strong with a few teaspoons of honey, and pushed it towards her.

:

When Severus returned to his quarters that night, he called Tilly to appear. The cheerful house-elf gladly accepted the small blue vial he pressed into her hand and promised to bring it to her mistress. She needed to teach the next morning, after all, and she had terrible headaches after overindulging.

He removed his jacket and hung it in his closet. When he pushed the hanger aside, the folded up piece of paper fell out of his pocket.

:

**Ginny, Ginny, Ginny... Why? Well, you finally got some insight into the workings of Severus' mind. ****(And did anyone else appreciate Hermione's insight into unicorns?)**


	7. The List

**I haven't done this yet, but my infinite thanks go to you readers and fellow authors for leaving reviews somewhere on the first 6 chapters: **ALIASTESIN, Amarenima Redwood, Angelusica, Angelwells, Ante162, Anthro79, AntigoneScorned, AurorasJenkins, Ava Allen, Ava-Potter gal, B2-the -ry2, BearyFunny66, bluefirely5, thebookworm90, bournespeed, butterflykisses69, The cat with blue eyes, Conquistador Imp, Consitura, dmeb, EccentricGhost, Ehann, Elli Cole, EllieMay Duncan, ennuinyx, everlanstingtrueromance, Goldilocks 92, Hanna, HarryPGinnyW4eva, idle lumberjack, JainaAngel, Jaxa, jitra, JM2010, kc, L'vanna, LadyBookworm80, LittlebigmouthOKC, LoveSpock, Mama Shmi, MarchesaLace, mehr03, MoonShadowAMR, mundy, nightkitty555, notyetanotheralias, Nutter4Potter, nyaw2468, ThePenIsMighty, pewterlocket, PheonixTheFire, phoenix-b, pixiefang15002, RhodaBush, Rocky181, Senshi at Heart, SevMione DuCaine, SeverusSneerwell, Shiv5468, Skievers, Smithback, Snapes-star, SophieAngel69, susu, Tar-Silmarien, TakersSoulMate, ATrueSlytherinAlwaysSS, Vess, Vinaplains, viola1701e, worrywart, write-this-song, zizou, and all of you mysterious, nameless guests.

**I think many of you have been waiting for this reaction. I hope it doesn't disappoint!**

**:**

He picked it up off the floor of his closet and delicately unfolded it. Printed across the top were the words 'Reasons to Convince Severus Snape for a Proper Shag,' and beneath it were twenty-six numbered items. Twenty-fucking-six. He skimmed over the page. The first twenty-three were all in black ink, the next two in blue, and the final one was in green. He knew that Granger preferred a quill and ink to a pen when she worked at her desk, although she took a pen out with her in the field for the sake of practicality. What did it mean that she kept changing inks? If he was interpreting this correctly, the woman must have sat down, drummed up almost two dozen reasons why she wanted to give him her body, considered it some more and came up with two more reasons. Then she _kept on thinking of him_ until she added one more and was finished.

Perhaps she was running out of ink, and she changed ink bottles in one sitting. He was more apt to believe that she came home completely inebriated or suffered under the side effects of some potion when she wrote this. She had one off night, scribbled out this list in a fit of drug-induced madness, and forgotten about it the next morning. That would explain things.

He examined the strokes again, noting a strong, clean line throughout.

So no. One lapse of judgment was not the case here. She sat at this very desk on at least three separate occasions with this task in mind.

It was insane, but it seemed to be true.

Hermione Granger had been meditating on his shaggability for weeks.

He read over the items a full three times before any of the words made any sense to him.

Roughly a third of them seemed to be accurate assessments of his intelligence. His unorthodox approach to his subject and his personal library were numbers 11 and 20. The depth of his knowledge, the sharpness of his wit, and the extent of his vocabulary were numbers 3, 16, and 5, respectively.

Only Granger would find that last one a turn on. He imagined pressing himself against her body, whispering words like "encomiastic" and "expatiation" into Hermione's ear and listening to her gasps of delight. _No_, he reprimanded himself. _That way madness lies_. He stopped that train of thought cold. It was only natural that a sharp bird like Granger would recognize and appreciate his intelligence. That didn't mean anything. She could say the same of herself or Minerva or Filius.

Another six or seven of them were related to what she perceived to be his character, but she seemed to be suffering under the delusion that he was some bloated, idealistic, tragically misunderstood hero. She noted his bravery in the war, his ability to protect the people who hated him the most during his year as headmaster, his endurance watching some of his students suffer at the hands of the Carrows in order that the ruse be kept up. His willingness to sacrifice his life and his own happiness for absolutely no public recognition or thanks.

Bravery! What a farce. He was scared shitless for pretty much all of both wars. He was entirely driven by guilt in the immediate aftermath of Lily's death in the first one, and in the second, he just had to make it long enough to send her son off to his own grave. Fear took a much greater role in the first war for him. At twenty-some odd years of age, he still held an inkling of belief that he might be find a more meaningful use of his talents or girl that didn't mind his company. He'd already given up any hope of ever being loved even then. Really, the thought was laughable. By the time the second war rolled around, Severus knew he had nothing to live for afterwards. Why not die? Even if he had died and been labelled a traitor, he knew what he had stood for. His death would have given his miserable life some semblance of meaning. As for his willingness to protect the students of Hogwarts under his reign of terror, who was she fooling? Yes, he kept students from being killed outright, but he wasn't able to do much more than that. He tried to prevent needless torture, and he disguised their punishments as best as he could, but why was Granger singling him out for _that_? He wasn't a monster. Anyone with a soul would have done as much. Pffft. She admired his selflessness? What a ludicrously optimistic little thing she was, thinking as though he could ever be a happy man. Life is all too brief and then you die. The end. Others distract themselves from this through their work or their spouses or their children, but that simple truth remained.

The description of his person made very little sense. She didn't seem to have vision problems, and he had never seen her wearing glasses of any kind, but something was clearly wrong. Her assessments had, at best, a tenuous relationship with reality. Number 11 on her list was what she called his "lean physique." _That would be underdeveloped scrawniness, Granger_. Number 17 was his nose. She'd drawn an odd cartoonish face with an open grin after that one, and it seemed to be winking. He had no idea what was happening in her mind about that subject. His nose was far too large for most people's tastes. Unless she was indicating the size of his... _No_, he thought. _Granger wouldn't speculate about that, would she_? Number 8 on her list was his hands. All right, so he could almost understand that one. A capable Potioneer's hands could come in handy in amatory pursuits, even if they were attached to his body. He would concede one point to Granger. His smile when he teased her? She was surely imagining things here. Severus Snape did not smile. Not even at intelligent, pretty young things who sought him out for discussions of politics and who awaited him toplessly in their quarters. His eyes made it on the list. Well, yes, he did have eyes. Another point to Granger, although he didn't know what having eyes had to do with wanting to shag him.

Number 1 on her list made the least sense of all. His heart. He didn't know if he should classify this item as referring to his body or his character. Anatomically, he did possess a heart, although a few decades' worth of erstwhile students might disagree. She had written that 'even he doesn't understand the depths of his heart.' What did that even mean?

Tired and overwhelmed, Severus folded the paper back in quarters and tucked it away under a pile of black socks in his dresser drawer. He pulled on his trusty grey nightshirt, brushed his teeth, and slid under the covers of his bed. As he drifted off the sleep, he reconsidered Hermione Granger and all he had learned about her this evening.

She had never told him of this list, hadn't written it after the fact to convince him to sleep with her. No, indeed not. Hermione had written out all of the things about him to convince herself that he was what she wanted most of all.

_Well, well_, he thought. _So Professor Granger is smitten, is she? Interesting..._

This changed everything.

Now that he knew of the extent of her esteem for him, there was only one woman he needed to speak with.

:

"Poppy," he said, grave decorum written on his sharp features, "I feel it my responsibility to alert you to your professional negligence."

It was early, so the only patients present were those with complicated injuries and illnesses that required them to stay overnight. Two young Gryffindors, a Hufflepuff, and a Slytherin were still sleeping behind the hospital curtains.

Shaking her head and smiling, the school matron led Severus into an quiet corner of the infirmary away from other patients. A portrait of Renaissance Healer in odd garb was snoring away on the wall behind them. Poppy threw up a series of Privacy Charms in case any of the students awoke. With great forbearance, she sat down on the empty bed and patted the space beside her.

He sat down.

"Severus, my dear, what is it that you think I have neglected?"

"The staff undergo annual physical checkups," he said slowly, "but you fail to address their mental health needs during that assessment."

Poppy Pomfrey was the woman who had shown him more kindness in his life than any other, who had seen him at his worst when he was a child and nursed him back to health through two wars. In many ways, she was as close to a second mother as he was ever going to get. She took his hands in hers and looked him in the eye, deeply concerned. "Is something wrong, Severus? Have you been having self-destructive thoughts or experienced anything out of the ordinary?"

He pulled away gruffly. "This isn't about me, woman."

"Who is it about?"

He crossed his arms across his chest and looked away. "I will not disclose their identity. Confidentiality is required on matters such as these."

"If you can't tell me who this concerns, can you at least tell me what this is about?"

"I have reason to believe that a staff member is unstable."

Her demeanor was warm and soothing as she coaxed answers out of him."Why do you believe that?"

He blushed. "This person has been spouting nonsense of an indelicate nature."

"Ah, I see," she said knowingly, a small smile tipping up the corners of her mouth. "What has Hermione said to you that has rattled your cage so?"

A remnant of his spying days was his ability to show no reaction whatsoever when it served his purposes. He used it now.

"Am I wrong?" she gently prodded.

"I do not see why you automatically leap to that conclusion."

"The girl talks to you more than everyone else on staff combined. Not for lack of trying on my part, but you're always too busy to visit me, Severus. Besides, you're forgetting that I work with her once a week. She's as sharp as ever. It is my professional opinion that Hermione Granger is of sound mind and body."

"Is it difficult working with someone with impaired vision?" he asked, testing his other theory that Granger had simply gone blind, forgotten what looked like, and was now operating on a terrible memory.

"What are you talking about?" Poppy asked, now openly laughing. "She doesn't even wear glasses."

Severus nodded brusquely.

The older woman inspected him, methodically observing the slight flush of his cheeks, the bead of sweat at his hairline, and the way he avoided making eye contact with her. She sighed and stood before him, placing her hands on his slumped shoulders. "My dear boy, Hermione knows herself. I don't know what it is she's done or said to throw you into such a tizzy, but rest assured, she is not working with faulty evidence. She means what she says. You would do well to believe her and accept whatever it is she's telling you at face value."

She kissed him on the forehead, pulled him up to standing, and clapped his shoulders. "Now don't mess this up! She admires you, you know."

She walked away, chuckling to herself, leaving behind a very confused Potions master in her wake.

:

He waited nearly a week before confronting Hermione. One awkward, tense week in which she ignored him almost entirely.

Having made his decision, he showed up at her quarters on one of the evenings he knew she would be free. When had he learned her schedule? He didn't set about to do it, but there it was, a fact of his life. Severus Snape knew where Hermione Granger would be at almost every hour of every day. He doubted even followed Lily like such a sad puppy when he was a boy. He stood outside her door for a full three minutes before he lifted his fist and knocked.

"Just a minute!" he heard muffled through the heavy door.

A brief scuffle later, and she opened it, dressed in her pyjamas and wearing a robe belted tightly around her slight waist.

"Oh," she said, her voice flat. "It's you." She did not step aside to let him in as she usually did, but stood there, stony-faced and proud.

He barged past her and marched down the entryway.

"Yes, Severus," she mumbled sarcastically under her breath. "_Do_ come in, will you?"

He heard the door close, followed by her slippered footsteps as she joined him in her living room. Having determined that there was no possible way to avoid the discomfort of this conversation, he decided to have it out with her as quickly as he could manage it. He paced back and forth behind her sofa.

"It has recently come to my attention that you would like to embark upon an intimate relationship with me."

"It has recently come to _my_ attention that you wanted me to be evaluated for mental instability," she spat back.

He gasped. "Poppy _told_ you that?" I thought I could trust—"

Hermione put her hand up. "No, Severus. She didn't tell me. I was worried about you, so I asked her if there was anything I could do anything to help you. She told me to be patient and supportive, and to ignore my concerns. When she left the room, one of the portraits spilled the beans and told me everything you said."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I needed to know."

"You doubt yourself far too much, Severus."

She was already stepping on territory he preferred she would avoid. They were not this close. He wasn't this close with anybody.

"You're offering me a drink, Granger." He walked away before she could tear down any more of his walls. He summoned an empty glass and headed over to her liquor cabinet to pour himself a firewhisky. He downed one, poured another, and thrust the bottle into her hands.

Then he turned to her, drumming his fingers on his glass. He spoke slowly, determined to get out these words before he left her quarters again. "I believe we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement."

:

**Also, the prize story for Goldilocks 92 has been posted. It's called "We Shall Have Snow," and it features what Hermione thinks is a chance encounter with Severus out walking on a winter's day. Short and sweet!**


End file.
